March 24th, 2015
Judges and law officers you shall establish for yourselves at all your [city] gates … and they shall judge the people with righteous judgment
Deuteronomy 16:18
In the courts of Torah law that were established by Moses—and which continue to serve us to this day[1]—cases are heard by a tribunal (bet din) of three judges.
Why three judges? Because, as the Talmud expresses it, “You should not judge alone, for there is none qualified to judge alone, only the One.”[2]Nor can two judges form a bet din: because the Torah commands to “rule in accordance with the majority,”[3] the bet din must consist of an uneven number of judges, so that in the case that there is disagreement between them, there will always be a majority opinion. Hence the requirement for three judges.
In addition to the standard three-member bet din, there were two types of higher-level courts in the Torah’s judicial system:
a) “Minor Sanhedrins” established in all major cities and districts. These consisted of 23 judges and were authorized to try capital offenses and other weighty matters.
b) The “Great Sanhedrin” of 71 judges which sat in a chamber in the courtyard of the Holy Temple. The Great Sanhedrin was the highest court of Torah law, having sole jurisdiction in matters of national importance.[4]
Congregations of Judges
The Great Sanhedrin was modeled after the assembly of 70 elders which G-d instructed Moses to convene to assist him in the jurisdiction and governance of Israel.[5] But why 23 judges in the other Sanhedrins?
The Talmud[6] explains that the requirement for 23 judges is derived from the following verses, which discuss the trial of a person who has unintentionally caused the death of another:
The congregation [of judges] shall judge between the killer and the avenger of the blood, according to these judgments.
And the congregation shall save the killer from the hand of the avenger of the blood.
And the congregation shall send him back to his city of refuge.[7]
In these verses, the Torah refers to three functions of the court:
a) To “judge” the accused—i.e., to seek to establish his guilt.
b) To “save” the accused—to seek to establish his innocence.
c) To hand down the verdict and—if the accused is found guilty—the sentence through which his rehabilitation will be achieved. (In the case of the unintentional killer, to “send him back to his city of refuge.”[8])
In the Sanhedrin, the judges themselves served in the roles of the “prosecution” and the “defense.” After hearing the testimony of the witnesses, the judges would divide themselves into two groups: those inclined to exonerate the accused, and those inclined to find him guilty.[9]Each judge would express his view of the evidence and seek to convince his fellows of his position. The Sanhedrin would then vote. A majority of one (e.g., a vote of 12-11) sufficed to exonerate the accused; a majority of two (e.g., a vote of 12-10) was required to convict.[10]
In the above-quoted verses, the Torah refers three times to the judges as a “congregation” (eidah), in connection with each of these functions—“judging,” “saving” and convicting/sentencing. Throughout the Torah, the word “congregation” is understood to mean a minimum of ten individuals.[11] Thus, in a court authorized to try capital cases, there must be enough judges for at least a congregation of “savers” and a congregation of “judgers,” and that the court should still be able to convict the accused in such circumstances.This brings us to a total of 22 judges. For in the case that there are 10 “savers,” there must be at least 12 “judgers” (10+2) to convict. And since a court must always have an uneven number of judges, the “Minor Sanhedrin” must consist of at least 23 judges.
Merciful Law
“A judge who judges with absolute truthfulness,” say our sages, “becomes like a partner with G-d in creation.”[12] G-d modeled His world after the blueprint He had sketched in the laws of the Torah;[13] by “maintaining” His creation in accordance with these laws, we become partners to His endeavor.
Thus, the forces that comprise a Sanhedrin mirror the dynamics of G-d’s creation: here, too, are element of “judgment,” “saving” and the verdict that is born of their combination. In the words of the Midrash:
G-d said: “If I create the world with Mercy, there will be many sinners; if I create with Law, how would it survive? So I shall create it with a combination of Mercy and Law.”[14]
A human court that endeavors to be a partner in G-d’s creation must embody the three strains in these musings of the Creator’s mind. It must be an instrument of “mercy” that seeks the redeeming and exonerating element even in a person who has committed the worst of crimes. It must also be an instrument of “law” that vigilantly preserves the infrastructure of creation. And it must combine these two functions in the handing down of its verdict and sentence—a verdict and sentence that atones even as it punishes, that rehabilitates the person even as it condemns his deed.
Based on an address by the Rebbe, Tammuz 28, 5720 (July 23, 1960)[15]
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[1]. Albeit in a limited form—see note 4 below.
[2]. Ethics of the Fathers 4:8.
[3]. Exodus 23:2; see note 10 below.
[4]. Forty years before the destruction of the Second Temple, a combination of Roman persecution and internal lawlessness caused the Great Sanhedrin to remove themselves from the Temple courtyard. This deprived them, and also the Minor Sanhedrins, of the authority to try capital offenses. The Sanhedrins continued to function, in a limited way, for another three hundred years, until Jewish autonomy had deteriorated to the point that they ceased operation altogether. Today, every Jewish community has a bet din, but we still await the restoration of the Sanhedrins by Moshiach.
[6]. Talmud, Sanhedrin 2a.
[8]. Exile to one of the designated “cities of refuge” is the prescribed punishment for unintentional killing through negligence. At first, all killers fled to a “city of refuge,” where they were safe from the “avenger of the blood” (a relative of the victim who seeks to avenge his death; the “avenger of the blood” was not prosecuted for killing the killer if he did so outside of a city of refuge). From the city of refuge the killer was brought before the court: killers who were found guilty of intentional murder were executed; those who were found guilty of unintentional murder were sent back to the city of refuge to serve their sentence of exile.
[9]. If none of the judges were inclined to argue in defense of the accused, he could not be convicted.
[10]. In the same verse (Exodus 23:2) that the Torah says to follow the majority, it also instructs: “Do not follow a [mere] majority to detriment.”
[11]. Hence the minyan, the quorum of ten required for congregational prayer. The definition of “congregation” is derived from Numbers 14:27, where the ten spies who spoke ill of the Holy Land are referred to as “this evil congregation.”
[12]. Talmud, Shabbat 10a.
[13]. Midrash Rabbah, Bereishit 1:2.
[15]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. IV, p. 1332.
Tags: Sanhedrin, judgment, Talmud, Jewish law, creation, midrash
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March 24th, 2015
When Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Lubavitch[13] was in Petersburg to attend the Rabbinical Convention of 1843, he received a special permit from the Russian Minister of War to address the Jewish soldiers serving at the military installation in nearby Kronstadt.[14]
When the Rebbe arrived, he was greeted by the waiting soldiers, who said to him: “Rebbe! We’ve been toiling all morning to prepare for your coming, polishing our buttons in your honor. Now it’s your turn to toil: polish our souls, which have been dulled and coarsened by our many years of disconnection from Yiddishkeit.”
Following his address, in which he encouraged their heroic efforts to cling to their faith, the Rebbe said: “You polished your buttons with sand and water. The soul, too, is polished with sand and water: with the holy letters of Tehillim (Psalms) recited with a generous infusion of tears.”
One of the soldiers spoke up: “But Rebbe, battles are won with joy, not tears.”
“So speaks a soldier!” said the Rebbe, with obvious satisfaction. “Yes, you’re right. A soldier enters the fray of battle to the tune of a joyous march, not with tears. It is by the power of his joy that he is victorious even in the most dangerous and challenging endeavors.”
Told by the Rebbe, Simchat Torah, 5727 (1966)
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[13]. 1789-1866. Rabbi Menachem Mendel, also known as the “Tzemach Tzedek” after his books by that name, was the third leader of Chabad Chassidism.
[14]. This was in the days of Czar Nikolai I, who had decreed that six- and seven-year-old Jewish children be conscripted into the Russian Army for a period of twenty-five years and be indoctrinated into Christianity, G-d forbid. The fact that the Rebbe was granted permission to address the Jewish soldiers at Kronstadt was nothing less than a miracle, since the primary purpose of their conscription was to tear them away from the faith of their fathers.
Tags: joy, soul, Chassidic stories, inspiration, war
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March 24th, 2015
In every relationship, there are times when the “male” or giving partner takes the initiative, and times when the “female” or receiving partner is the one to first express her feelings and thereby stimulate the feelings of her partner.
The question of who takes the initiative has a profound effect on the nature of the relationship. For though the end result is that both of them express their love for each other, the one who takes the initiative determines the nature of the other’s response. When initiated by the giving partner, the response stimulated in the recipient will likewise be a “masculine” response; when initiated by the recipient, the giver’s response will also be of a “feminine” nature, for it will be influenced and shaped by the source of its arousal.
In Song of Songs, which explores the relationship between G-d and Israel through the metaphor of the love between a bride and her groom, we find expressions of both male-initiated and female-initiated love. In one verse, the narratress proclaims, “My beloved is to me, and I am to him.”[9] In another, she says, “I am to my beloved, and my beloved is to me.”[10]
There are times when the Almighty showers us with love and kindness, arousing in us a response in kind (“My beloved is to me, and I am to him”). But there are also times in which we take the initiative, expressing our love and devotion to Him despite His apparent distance from us, thereby arousing in Him His love for us (“I am to my beloved, and my beloved is to me”).
It may be argued that the divinely-initiated love produces a higher and loftier love than that which is initiated by ourselves. When the initial arousal comes from G-d, it is a show of love that is as infinite and sublime as its source, arousing in us feelings that we could never have produced ourselves. Nevertheless, such a love cannot be said to be truly our own. We have been overwhelmed by something that is infinitely greater than ourselves, and our own response is likewise “larger than life,” bearing little relation to who and what we are in our natural state.
On the other hand, the love we generate from ourselves may be less magnificent and glorious, but it is a deeper and truer love. It is an integral love—a love that comes from within and expresses our deepest yearnings. And when we awaken such a love in ourselves, G-d responds in kind, showing us an integral, intimate love—a love that embraces us as we are, rather than transporting us to sublime yet alien peaks of spirituality and transcendence.
The Acronym
The month of Elul is a month in which the love between the divine Groom and His bride Israel is at its height. This is alluded to by the fact that, in Hebrew, the first letters of the verse “I am to my beloved and my beloved is to me” (ani ledodi v’dodi li) spell the word Elul.
It is significant that the acronym for Elul comes from the verse that describes a love that is initiated by the bride, rather than the verse (“My beloved is to me, and I am to him”) in which the initial show of love comes from the groom. For despite its designation as a time for special closeness between G-d and man, Elul is a most “ordinary” month, conspicuously devoid of festivals and holy days (as opposed to the festival-rich month of Tishrei that follows it). Elul is not a time in which we are “lifted up” from our daily routine to the more spiritual atmosphere of a festival day; rather, it is a time in which we remain in our natural state as material beings inhabiting a material life.[11]
For the month of Elul, whose astral sign is the sign of betulah (“virgin”), is the month of the bride. Elul is a time when the initiative comes from our side of the relationship, and the divine response to our love is one that relates to us as finite, material beings and embraces our natural self and personality.
Based on the Rebbe’s talks on Av 27, 5750 (August 18, 1990)[12] and on numerous other occasions
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[11]. See The King in the Field, WIR, vol. VIII, no. 54.
[12]. Sefer HaSichot 5750, vol. II, pp. 631-633.
Tags: repentance, love of G-d, transcendence, love, marriage, teshuvah
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March 24th, 2015
In the 20th chapter of Deuteronomy, the Torah instructs how a Jewish army is to prepare for battle:
When you come near to the battle, the priest shall approach and speak to the people. And he should say to them: “Hear, O Israel! You draw near today to wage war upon your enemies; let not your hearts soften, fear not, and do not panic nor break ranks before them. For it is G-d your G-d who goes with you, to fight for you against your enemies, to deliver you.”
And the officers shall address the people, saying: “Is there a man [among you] who has built a new house and has not inaugurated it? Let him go and return to his home, lest he die in battle and another man inaugurate it.
“Is there a man who has planted a vineyard and has not redeemed[1] its first crop? Let him go and return to his home, lest he die in battle and another man redeem it.
“Is there a man who has betrothed a woman and has not married her? Let him go and return to his home, lest he die in battle and another man marry her.”
And the officers shall further address the people, and say: “Is there a man who is afraid and faint of heart? Let him go and return to his home, so that he not melt the hearts of his brothers as his own.”[2]
Righteous Warriors Only
The Talmud cites a disagreement between two sages as to the definition of “a man who is afraid and faint of heart.” According to Rabbi Akiva, “the meaning is as the simple reading of the verse implies: one who cannot stand firm in the joint ranks in battle and see a drawn sword.” Rabbi Yossi of Galilee maintains that the verse is referring to “one who fears because of his sins.” “Thus,” adds Rabbi Yossi, “the Torah added him on to those who return on account of a [new] home, vineyard or wife—to cover up for he who returns because of his sins.”[3]
Rabbi Yossi’s concluding words also explain the reasoning behind his interpretation. Rabbi Yossi is bothered by the fact that the announcement calling for the fainthearted to go home comes after those regarding a new home, vineyard or wife. Earlier, we read how the priest addressed the troops, enjoining them, “let not your hearts soften, fear not, and do not panic nor break ranks before them”; this would seem the natural place to announce that those who fear battle should go home. Why precede its mention with three completely unrelated subjects? Furthermore, a coward in the ranks presents a far greater problem than the possibility that a solider might fail to return to inaugurate his home, redeem his vineyard or marry his betrothed: the former places many lives, and perhaps the very outcome of the battle, in jeopardy, while the latter only concerns the dimensions of an individual tragedy. For both these reasons, one would expect that the first announcement would concern those who are “afraid and faint of heart,” followed then by the other announcements.
This leads Rabbi Yossi to conclude that the meaning of the verse is other than what a simple reading would imply, namely, that the priest’s assurance that “G-d goes with you, to fight for you with your enemies, to deliver you” surely suffices to allay the fears of any anxious soldier—except for the soldier who fears that he is undeserving of divine protection because of his sins. This is why the announcement regarding the fearful is appended to those regarding a new home, etc.—to cover-up for those who depart because of their sins.
An Oxymoron
Rabbi Akiva, however, does not accept Rabbi Yossi’s interpretation. Despite the said difficulties, he maintains that the verse should be understood in its most literal sense—as regarding one who fears the roar of battle and the sight of a drawn sword—and rejects the notion that it might be addressed to “one who fears because of his sins.”
Rabbi Akiva’s reasoning can be understood in light of a remarkable law cited in the Talmudic tractate of Kiddushin, which deals with the laws of marriage.
“One who marries a woman on the condition that he is a perfectly righteous man,” rules the Talmud, “the marriage may be valid even if he is utterly wicked, since it is possible that he had a thought of teshuvah in his mind.”[4]
Such is the power of teshuvah (repentance; lit., “return”). Teshuvah is the ultimate transformation that a human being can undergo—the transformation from a state of rebellion against G-d and disconnection from one’s source of life and the very purpose of one’s existence, to a state of unblemished perfection and union with G-d. Teshuvah consists of three basic elements: a) the cessation of sin; b) the acknowledgment that one has done wrong; and c) the resolve never to repeat it. All three stages, however, are present in a single dynamic: regret. Thus teshuvah can be achieved instantaneously—in a single moment of profound regret.[5]
Rabbi Akiva, who was known for his tendency to focus on what is positive and meritorious in the soul of man,[6] insists that there is no such thing as “one who fears because of his sins,” thus lacking the protection that G-d confers on an army that does battle with the enemies of His people. For if he fears because of his sins, this means that he recognizes that he has done wrong and regrets his deed. Hence, he is no longer a sinner, but a perfectly righteous individual!
Based on the Rebbe’s talks, Shabbat Parshat Shoftim[7] 5727 (1967) and 5729 (1969)[8]
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[1]. See Leviticus 19:24.
[3]. Talmud, Sotah 44a; Rashi on Deuteronomy 20:8.
[4]. Talmud, Kiddushin 49b.
[5]. See stories related in the Talmud, Avodah Zarah 10b, 17a and 18a.
[6]. See Rashi on Talmud, Sanhedrin 110b (section beginning “Shavkei”)
[7]. It is noteworthy that the Torah section of Shoftim (Deuteronomy 16-21, which includes the above cited verses) is always read on the first Shabbat in Elul, the month of teshuvah.
[8]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. IX, pp. 121-129.
Tags: Talmud, Jewish law, Rabbi Akiva, repentance, war, teshuvah
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March 24th, 2015
And you shall come to the Levite priests, and to the judge who shall be in those days…. And you shall take heed to do according to all that they instruct you. According to the Torah that they shall teach you, and according to the judgment which they shall say to you, so shall you do; you shall not deviate from what they tell you, right or left
Deuteronomy 17:9-11
“Right or left”—even when he tells you that right is left and that left is right
Rashi, ibid. verse 11
Some twenty-seven hundred years ago, one of the most dramatic events in Jewish history took place atop Mount Carmel in northern Israel.
The people of Israel were torn between their allegiance to G-d and the dominating Baal culture espoused by King Ahab and his queen, Jezebel. The prophet Elijah challenged Ahab and the “prophets” of the pagan gods Baal and Asherah to a contest before the entire nation. When all had assembled on the summit of Mount Carmel,
Elijah approached the entire nation and said to them: “How long will you go on wavering between both sides? If G-d is the L-rd, follow Him, and if Baal is, follow him.” And the people answered him not a word.
Said Elijah to the nation: “I alone remain a prophet of G-d, while the Baal’s prophets are four hundred and fifty men. Let there be given us two bullocks; and let them choose one bullock for themselves, and butcher it and place it on the wood pile, and put no fire underneath. I will prepare the other bullock, lay it on the wood pile, and put no fire underneath.
“Call on your gods and I will call on G-d, and the one who shall answer with fire, he is the true G-d.” And the entire nation responded: “It is good [what you propose].”
… [The prophets of Baal] prepared their bullock. And they called upon Baal from morning till noon, saying, “Baal! Answer us!” But there was no voice, no response. And they pranced about the altar they had made…. And Elijah mocked them, saying, “Cry aloud, to this god of yours. Perhaps he is conversing, or meditating, or off on a trip; perhaps he is asleep and must be awakened….”
Come evening, Elijah the Prophet approached [G-d] and said: “G-d, the L-rd of Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, let it be known this day that You are G-d in Israel and I am Your servant, and that I have done all these things at Your word. Answer me, O G-d, answer me, so that this people may know that You are G-d, for it is You who has caused their hearts to turn away from You.”
And the fire of G-d fell, and consumed the offering, the wood, and the stones and earth [of the altar], and licked up the water that was in the trench. The entire nation saw, and fell upon their faces. And they said, “G-d is the L-rd! G-d is the L-rd!”[16]
The Return of the Two Bullocks
Said Rabbi DovBer, the Maggid of Mezeritch:[17]
Just prior to the coming of Moshiach, the contest of the “Two Bullocks” will again take place. Again, the people of Israel will be polarized between faith in G-d and the prevailing idols. Again, a lone prophet of G-d will challenge the many and the powerful. Again, a nation will await a sign from Above as to where to place their loyalty.
The showdown atop Mount Carmel will repeat itself, but with one significant difference: this time, the fire will fall on the side of the Baal.
This time, the prophet of G-d will be ignored, while a fire from heaven will endorse the prophets of Baal. This time, those who call upon the true G-d of Israel will be mocked and derided, as their cries go unheeded and their prayers unanswered.
Just prior to the coming of Moshiach, the Jewish people will face the greatest test of faith in history. Those who will persist with their faith in G-d and His prophets despite all, will merit to bring the complete and ultimate Redemption.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[17] . Leader of the Chassidic movement in the years 1761-1772.
Tags: faith, redemption, idol worship, tests
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March 24th, 2015
“Though summer still lingered and the day was bright and sunny, there was a change in the air. One smelled already the Elul-scent; a teshuvah-wind was blowing. Everyone grew more serious, more thoughtful…. All awaited the call of the shofar, the first blast that would announce the opening of the gates of the month of mercy.”
So describes the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, the onset of the month of Elul in the shtetl of Lubavitch.
As the last month of the Jewish year, Elul is a time for sober review of the achievements and failings of the closing year; a month of trepidation on account of the approaching “Days of Awe” of Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, when “all inhabitants of earth pass before the Divine Judge as a flock of sheep.”[12] But Elul is also a gentle month, softened by the reconciliatory prophecies of the “Seven of Consolation”[13] and the vibes of divine compassion that linger from the time that Moses spent the whole of Elul on the summit of Mount Sinai procuring G-d’s wholehearted forgiveness for Israel’s first sin.[14] In a word, Elul is a time of teshuvah: a time of regret, forgiveness and reconciliation; a time of return to pristine beginnings to rediscover one’s true self and the spark of G-dliness at the core of one’s soul.
The First Resource
To keep body and soul together, the human being needs air, water, food, clothing, shelter—in that order. Without air, G-d forbid, a person would expire in a matter of minutes. He may survive a few days without water, a few weeks without food. The need for clothing and shelter are less immediately apparent, but without them man would ultimately succumb to an environment often hostile to his life and health.
Not incidentally, this order also describes the relative accessibility of these resources. Shelter is the most toilsome and expensive of human needs to acquire. Clothing less so, food yet less so, water even cheaper and more available. Finally, air, the most crucial resource of them all, is the most bountiful and the most effortless to attain.
Thus, the idioms “a change in the air,” “Elul-scent,” and “teshuvah-wind” in the above quote from Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak are not mere poetic figures of speech, but also express a truth about the month of Elul and the spirit ofteshuvah that pervades it. The effort to cut through life’s accumulated debris of failings and inequities and touch base with the untarnished purity at the core of one’s soul, is a round-the-year endeavor. But in the month of Elul, we enter into an atmosphere of teshuvah.
In Elul, teshuvah is not a factor of cataclysmic “moments of truth” or something to be extracted from the depths of the prayerbook. It is as plentiful and accessible as air: we need only breathe deeply to draw it into our lungs and send it coursing through our veins. And with Elul comes the realization that, like air, teshuvah is our most crucial resource, our very breath of spiritual life.
Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shabbat Mevarchim Elul, 5727 (September 2, 1967)[15]
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[12] . From the Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur prayers.
[13] . See The Intimate Estrangement, WIR, vol. IX, no. 42.
[14] . See The 120-Day Version of the Human Story, WIR, vol. X, no. 1.
[15]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. XIX, pp. 158-161.
Tags: self-discovery, self awareness, air, teshuvah, soul
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March 24th, 2015
Judges and law-enforcers you shall appoint for you at all your city gates… and they shall judge the people with righteous judgment
Deuteronomy 16:18
One of the interesting features of the Torah’s criminal justice system involves the manner in which the “Minor Sanhedrin”[1]—a tribunal of 23 judges[2] authorized to try capital offenses—operated. After hearing the evidence presented by the witnesses, the 23 judges would split up into two groups, one group serving as the “prosecution” and the other as the “defense.” Each judge would take a position based on his first impression of the evidence, and then seek to convince the others. After hearing their colleagues’ arguments and consolidating their final opinions, the judges would vote. A majority of one was sufficient to exonerate, while a majority of two was needed in order to convict.
[Hence the requirement for 23 judges: the Torah desires that there exist the possibility for a full “community”—ten individuals—of “exoneraters” among the judges even when the defendant is found guilty.[3] This requires a minimum of 22 judges—10 votes of “innocent” and 12 votes (a majority of two) of “guilty.” The 23rd judge is to satisfy the requirement that a court of law must always consist of an odd number of judges.[4]]
Any number of the 23 may choose to align themselves with the “defense team,” and any number with the group of judges arguing for conviction. However, the law states that,
If a Sanhedrin trying a capital case all begin with an opinion of “guilty,” the defendant is exonerated. Only when there are merit-leaning judges who argue in his favor, following which a majority finds him guilty—only then is he executed.[5]
On the face of it, this seems a strange, even bizarre law: why should a criminal whose crime is so heinous, and against whom the evidence is so compelling, that not a single judge can find anything to say his favor, escape punishment precisely because of the gravity of his crime and the decisive nature of the evidence?
But upon closer examination, this law is fully in keeping with the philosophy behind the Torah’s penal code and its concept of “guilt” and “punishment.”
Forcefully Willed
To understand how the Torah regards the person who stands accused and/or convicted of having violated one of its laws, let us first look at another interesting twist of Torah law, this from laws of divorce:
According to Torah law, a divorce is valid only when granted willingly. However, “If the law mandates that a person grant his wife a divorce and he refuses, a Jewish court, in any time or place, may beat him until he says ‘I am willing’ and writes the writ of divorce.”[6]
“Why is such a divorce not deemed ‘coerced’ and invalid?” asks Maimonides, the great 12th-century codifier of Torah law. “Because,” answers Maimonides, “an act is not considered to be ‘coerced’ unless the person has been forced to do something which is not obligated by the Torah: for example, if a person was beaten until he agreed to sell or sign away his property. But one who has been overpowered by his evil inclination to negate a mitzvah or to commit a transgression, and is forced to do what is right, is not considered ‘coerced’—on the contrary, it is his evil character which has coerced him, against his true will, in the first place.”
“In truth,” concludes Maimonides, “this individual wishes to be of Israel and wishes to observe all of the commandments and to avoid all of the transgressions of the Torah; only his evil inclination has overpowered him. So if he is beaten so that his evil inclination is weakened, and he says ‘I am willing,’ he has divorced willingly.”[7]
Insufficient Knowledge
We can now understand why the Torah is convinced that there is a defense to be argued for every individual who stands trial, regardless of the gravity of the crime and the persuasiveness of the evidence.
Man was created in the image of G-d;[8] the essence of man is good and perfect, mirroring the goodness and perfection of his Creator. So the basic premise of Torah law is that every evil deed is committed against its perpetrator’s intrinsic will; every crime is a result of external forces that have overwhelmed the criminal’s true self.
In other words, every criminal is innocent in the ultimate sense of the word: his true self was never willingly involved in the deed, rather “his evil character has coerced him, against his true will.” Nevertheless, “A judge must judge only by what his eyes see.”[9] The Sanhedrin must decide the willfulness of the criminal’s deed based on the evidence presented before them, not their knowledge of the essence of humanity. (Indeed, it is not enough that we know that the reluctant divorcer wishes deep down to do the right thing: unless he mouths the words “I am willing,” the divorce is regarded as “coerced” and invalid. It is only after he expresses his willingness that we accept it, knowing that it stems not only from his desire to avoid a beating but also from his quintessential will.)
It is for this reason that a Sanhedrin in which not a single judge chooses to argue in the defendant’s favor cannot judge him at all. Conceivably, the evidence and arguments presented by the “prosecutors” might be so compelling that all 23 judges will, at the end of their deliberations, cast a “guilty” vote. But though the judges must reach their verdict solely on the basis of “what their eyes can see,” they must also be aware of of the essential goodness of the person standing accused before them, and look for signs and expressions of this goodness in his actual behavior (even if these signs and expressions do not suffice, in the final weighting of the evidence, to prevent a verdict of “guilty”). So in the case that the defendant is faced with a court in which not a single one of its members even sees grounds for his innocence, we know that he is being misjudged. We know that his true self is so completely hidden from the eyes and souls of his judges that they see not even the slightest glimmer of in his exterior self. A court with so shallow a knowledge of the human being standing trial before it cannot sit in judgment of him.
On the Essence of Punishment
But there is also another, deeper rationale behind the law of the “too-guilty” criminal—a reason which goes to heart of the Torah’s concept of “punishment.”
Why is a criminal punished by a human court? The ultimate function of the penalties which the Torah instructs and empowers a Sanhedrin to impose is not to exact vengeance, nor is it to serve as a deterrent for other would-be criminals (although the Torah mentions this as a secondary aim), but the rehabilitation of the criminal.[10] In the case that a death sentence is passed (G-d forbid), this indicates a crime so severe that it can be atoned for only with this most terrible penalty. But the punishment always comes to effect the purification of the criminal’s soul, to cleanse it of the stain inflicted upon it by the evil of his deed.
In light of this, the arguments put forth by the “defense contingent” of the Sanhedrin during its deliberations can be understood not only as an attempt to exonerate the defendant, but also as part of the process of his rehabilitation. Also in the case that the majority (or even the entire tribunal) ultimately find him guilty, these arguments serve as the first step in the court’s exorcism of the taint of his crime from his soul. These arguments accentuate his intrinsic innocence—an innocence that exists even in the most technically “guilty” criminal. At times, they may indeed succeed in bringing the defendant’s innocence to light on a level perceivable to the judge who must judge “only by what his eyes see,” and the defendant will be declared innocent in the earthly courtroom. In other instances, the defendant’s intrinsic innocence will not be found to have sufficiently asserted itself in his actual behavior, and his guilt and a sentence would be decreed. In such a case, the punishment will complement and complete what the arguments in his defense have begun: the obliteration of his external guilt and the reassertion of his underlying goodness and perfection.
Thus, a verdict and punishment which are not preceded by the court’s elucidation of the defendant’s quintessential blamelessness lack the very basis upon which a punishment is executed. Having failed to discern even the faintest glimmer of his innocence, the court has invalidated itself for the task of exorcising his guilt.
Based on an address by the Rebbe, Adar 14, 5745 (March 7, 1985)[11]
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[1] . To be distinguished from the “Major Sanhedrin”—the 71-judge tribunal which sat in the courtyard of the Holy Temple and served as the highest court of Torah law.
[2] . Probably the source of today’s 23-member Grand Jury.
[3] . As per Numbers 35:24-25: “And the community shall judge … and the community shall save.” A “community” (eidah), as indicated by Numbers 14:27, is ten individuals.
[5] . Mishneh Torah, Laws of Sanhedrin 9:1.
[6]. Mishneh Torah, Laws of Divorce 2:20.
[9]. Talmud, Sanhedrin 6b.
[10]. See Rashi’s commentary on Deuteronomy 25:3; Talmud, Makkot 23b; Kessef Mishneh on Mishneh Torah, Laws of Witnesses 20:2.
[11] . Likkutei Sichot, vol. XXIX, pp. 113-121.
Tags: Sanhedrin, good and evil, judgment, Jewish law, true self, divorce
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March 24th, 2015
We live in the age of unity. “Synthesis,” “integration,” “cohesion” and similar catchwords have come to dominate virtually every area of human endeavor, from business to art, from scientific theory to personal relationships.
No doubt, all this harmony is a good thing. But at times, something within us resists the call to break down yet another boundary, to erase yet another distinction. Something within us protests that certain things just don’t mix, that the combination of two very different realities will often result in a hybrid that is neither here nor there, rendered useless or worse by its inherent contradictions.
This is the essence of the Torah’s kilayim laws, which are a series of prohibitions against the intermixing of certain breeds and species. While the Torah is obviously in favor of unity and harmony—indeed, its stated function is “to bring peace into the world”[1] and reveal the underlying oneness of a reality created by the One G-d—the Torah is also the guardian of the boundaries which G-d established in His creation.[2] The Torah’s concept of “peace” is not the indiscriminate melding of the diverse components of G-d’s world, but a regulated integration in which boundaries are respected and the individual qualities of the integrated entities are preserved.
These are two principles to which most everyone will ascribe: the pursuit of unity and the preservation of individuality. The question is always in the particulars—in the who, what, when, where and how of life. Hence the Torah’s function as the harbinger of “peace in the world.” The Torah describes itself as G-d’s “blueprint for creation”[3]—a master plan which details and delineates the manner in which the various components of creation were designed by their Creator to interact and unite. The Torah tells us which entities should be joined together and which should be held apart; it instructs us if, when, and how a given element or force in creation should be integrated into our lives.
Specifically, the Torah’s kilayim laws forbid the hybridization of certain species of plants and animals. Three of these laws are enumerated in the 22nd chapter of Deuteronomy:
You shall not sow your vineyard with diverse seeds…. You shall not plow with an ox and an ass together. You shall not wear shaatnez, [a garment fashioned of] wool and linen together.[4]
Three Breeds of Hybrid
While the three prohibitions in the above verses all relate to the intermixing of species, each represents a different type of “hybridization.”
The first law, which forbids the sowing of grain in a vineyard, is the most extreme form of kilayim among the three. When different plant species are planted in close proximity to each other, their roots intermingle and each derives nourishment from the other. The result is a true hybrid—a plant that has integrated into itself the characteristics of another species. The grape or kernel of grain might not be externally distinguishable from a “normal” grape or kernel, but it has been intrinsically altered, its taste, texture and other qualities affected by the fact that it shared soil and nurture with a different species. This places it in the same class as another form of kilayim (legislated elsewhere in the Torah[5])—the prohibition to breed a hybrid animal by mating two different species to each other.
In contrast, yoking an ox and an ass to the same plow alters neither the ox nor the ass. Here, the “hybridization” is not in the species themselves, but in their action. A certain effect has been produced (i.e., a field has been plowed) that is the result of the combined actions of two species.
The third form of kilayim—the prohibition against wearing a garment made of wool and linen (“shaatnez“) —falls somewhere between the first two types. On the one hand, a tangible entity—the garment—has been created which is itself a combination of two different species. In this sense, theshaatnez garment resembles the hybrid plant produced by mixed sowing. On the other hand, unlike the hybrid plant, whose every fiber and cell has been altered, the wool and linen fibers remain distinct entities within the garment, which can conceivably be disassembled. In this sense, it resembles the second form of kilayim, in which a certain action or effect (in this case, the protection and comfort which the wearer derives from the garment) is jointly produced by two species which themselves remain distinct from each other.
Two Definitions of Shaatnez
Halachic literature records a difference of opinion between two great interpreters of Torah law, Rashi[6] and Rabbeinu Tam,[7] in regard to the specifics of the shaatnez prohibition. According to Rashi, a garment isshaatnez only if one mixed the raw wool and linen together, combed them together, spun them together, and wove the cloth out of the “hybrid” thread. According to Rabbeinu Tam, a garment is also considered kilayim if each species was combed, spun and woven into cloth individually, and then stitched together as a single garment.[8]
The reasoning behind these two opinions can be explained as deriving from the two vantage points on shaatnez described above. According to Rashi, the prohibition against mixing wool and linen is more closely related to “kilayim of the vineyard.” In other words, the garment itself is regarded as the mixed entity, as being neither wool nor linen but a hybrid “species” comprised of two incompatible elements. Since Rashi sees this as the basis of the prohibition, a garment is kilayim only when it most resembles a hybrid species—i.e., when it is thoroughly integrated to the point of indistinguishability. Merely stitching together wool and linen fabrics does not make a “hybrid.”
Rabbeinu Tam, on the other hand, sees the law of shaatnez as more closely related to the prohibition to plow with an ox and an ass together—that is, to benefit from the combined actions of two incompatible species. According to this, the shaatnez garment is no more a “hybrid” than a yoked pair of animals; rather, the essence of the prohibition is that by wearing the garment, the person enjoys the combined effect of two spiritually incompatible materials. So according to Rabbeinu Tam, the degree to which the wool and linen have been blended in the garment-making process is irrelevant, since what makes the garment kilayim is not the intermixing itself, but the fact that wool and linen jointly perform a certain function—specifically, the function of a garment.[9]
This latter approach (that of Rabbeinu Tam) also explains a certain curiosity in the law of shaatnez: unlike other forms of kilayim, where it is forbidden to create the hybrid entity (as in the prohibition to plant grain and vines together or to mate two species of animals), the laws ofshaatnez only forbid the wearing, but not the making, of the mixed garment.[10]
On the face of it, it would seem that the shaatnez garment is an even more extreme form of hybridization than the other forms of kilayim, and ought to be proscribed by stricter, rather than more lenient, laws. The other forms of kilayim involve the intermixing of different plant species or different animal species; in the case of shaatnez, a plant product (linen) is mixed with an animal product (wool). This seems an even more severe violation of the boundaries of creation. Why, then, is the prohibition against shaatnez limited to the wearing of the mixed garment, while the actual creation of this hybrid entity is permitted?
But the very “severity” of shaatnez is the reason for its seeming leniency. Because wool and linen are so different, they cannot be truly combined, no matter how tightly they are intertwined. Two plants can be grafted to form a third, hybrid species; two animals can be interbred to make a third, mongrel breed. But a plant and an animal cannot be interbred; the only type of kilayim possible in such a combination is the “joint action” type. So until the garment is actually worn, no intermixing has taken place; the two elements are simply coexisting side by side. It is only when the wool and linen fibers act together as a garment[11] that the conflicting forces contained in these two elements clash, disrupting the “peace”—the subtle balance of mutuality and distinctiveness—which Torah endeavors to implement in the world.
The Envelopment of Man
The Kabbalists tell us that the Torah is comprised of a body and a soul. The body of Torah is halachah, the laws and regulations which govern our physical lives; the soul of Torah is its so-called mystical element, which instructs the inner life of the soul. And just as in the human body each organ and cell is vitalized by its corresponding “organ” or “cell” within the soul, so, too, every detail and sub-detail of Torah law has its corresponding “mystical” significance in the soul of Torah.
The same applies to the particulars of the laws of kilayim discussed above: each has its corresponding application in the life of the soul.
As we have elaborated on another occasion,[12] the “miniature universe that is man”[13] consists, like its macrocosmic counterpart, of four “kingdoms”: a mineral or “inanimate” kingdom, a plant kingdom, an animal kingdom and a human kingdom. The “plant kingdom” within the human being are the emotions of the heart, while the “animal kingdom” in man is the intellect. It is in this context that we might understand the spiritual application of the laws of kilayim detailed above.
As a rule, a person should aspire toward an integration and synthesis of the many facets of his emotional and intellectual faculties. But as is the case with the physical universe, there are exceptions to this rule. The various forms of plant kilayim represent those particular traits of the heart whose combination is disruptive, rather than conducive, to emotional harmony. The various forms of animal kilayim represent similar untenable “cross-breedings” in the realm of mind. And the law of shaatnez warns against a certain disruptive union of mind and heart.
But precisely because the mind and heart are so different from each other, the laws warning against their “hybridization” are less constricting. In the case of mixed feelings or cross-wired thought-processes, there is the ever-present danger in the creation of a hybrid—a third “species” which blurs the differences between its progenitors and commingles their qualities in undesirable ways. In the case of the very different realms of mind and heart, however, no such “interbreeding” is possible. So as a rule, the synthesis of mind and heart (no easy task for polarized man) is a positive endeavor.
There is one context, however, in which intellect and feeling must be kept distinct and apart. Kabbalistic teaching distinguishes between two areas of life: internal (penimi) and encompassing (makkif). Experiences and activities which are absorbed and digested by the person in a controlled manner are regarded as “internal”; experiences and activities which overwhelm the person so that he becomes wholly immersed and absorbed within them are termed “encompassing.” In the terminology of Kabbalah, “food” is a metaphor for internalized phenomena, while “garments” is the metaphor for encompassing realities.
An “encompassing” experience can be intellectual or emotional, but it cannot be both. By definition, it is total, all-embracing and one-dimensional. The entire point of such an experience is that the person approaches it without inhibition or equivocation, allowing himself to become totally enveloped within it; that he relates to the truth which it represents in its quintessential simplicity, instead of trying to “capture” it and quantify it with his faculties, as he does in the case of his “internal” endeavors. One cannot relate to an “encompassing” experience in a complex, multi-faceted way; one can only surrender to its pristine simplicity and its singular truth.
Spiritual shaatnez is the attempt to make a “garment” from an admixture of intellect and feeling. There is nothing intrinsically negative in such a composite per se—indeed, the attainment of a synthesis of mind and heart is one of the highest, if most difficult, achievements of man. But such a composite cannot be used as a garment. In all that regards our “encompassing” endeavors, our intellectual and emotional avenues of connection must each be pursued individually, without attempting to combine the “wool” and “linen” of our souls.
Based on the Rebbe’s talks on various occasions[14]
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[1] . Mishneh Torah, Laws of Chanukah 4:14.
[2] . These two sides to man’s mission in life are implicit in the mandate given to the very first human being by his Creator: “And G-d took the man and placed him in the Garden of Eden to develop it and to safeguard it” (Genesis 2:15).
[3] . Midrash Rabbah, Bereishit 1:2.
[4] . Deuteronomy 22:9-11.
[6] . Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki, 1040-1105.
[7] . Rashi’s grandson, Rabbi Yaakov ben Meir, 1100-1171.
[8] . Tur, Yoreh De’ah 300:1. It is important to note that Rashi and Rabbeinu Tam are defining the basic, “biblical” prohibition; other, lesser forms of shaatnez are also forbidden as a rabbinical ordinance. The same applies to the other shaatnez laws cited in this article for the sake of our discussion of their inner significance. As far as actual practice is concerned, one must consult the chapters on kilayim and shaatnez in the Shulchan Aruch (Code of Jewish Law).
[9]. The difference of opinions between Rashi and Rabbeinu Tam revolves around their different interpretations of the word shaatnez, which is an acronym for various stages of the cloth-making process. In addition, Rabbeinu Tam’s approach is supported by the fact that verses 10 and 11, which contain the prohibitions against plowing with an ox and an ass and wearing shaatnez, constitute a single parashah (“paragraph”) in the Torah, while verse 9, which forbids mixed sowing, is in a separate parashah. This implies that the prohibition of shaatnez is more closely related to the type of kilayim represented by the prohibition to plow with two different animals—i.e., to produce a hybrid action or effect, rather than a hybrid species or entity. Rashi, on the other hand, might argue (as do a number of halachicauthorities) that the prohibition against plowing with different animals is actually a seyag (preventive measure) against the possibility that animals that are yoked together will also be stabled to together and cross-bred. According to this, there exists, in truth, only one type of kilayim—the making of a hybrid entity—and not two types, as theorized above in the text.
[10] . Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh De’ah 302. In fact, a shaatnez garment can even be used for certain purposes, as long as it does not serve a garment-like function (Ibid., 301).
[11] . Particularly as a garment—as mentioned above, it is permissible to use shaatnez for purposes other than enveloping the body. For it is only in the context of garment-like functions that the differences between wool and linen “clash” in a way that runs contrary to the harmony of creation (see below in the text).
[12] . See The Man in Man, WIR, vol. VII, no. 1.
[13] . Midrash Tanchuma, Pekudei 3.
[14] . Likkutei Sichot, vol. XXXIV, pp. 123-128.
Tags: garments, boundaries, emotions, kabbalah, unity, Jewish law, mind
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March 24th, 2015
When a man has taken a wife, and married her, and it comes to pass that she does not find favor in his eyes…
Deuteronomy 24:1
A distraught young woman came to Rabbi Israel, the Maggid of Kozhnitz. “Rebbe, help me,” she cried. “My husband has deserted me!”
“Why did he leave you?” asked Rabbi Israel.
“He says that I’m ugly,” said the woman.
“And what do you say to that?” asked Rabbi Israel.
“Under the wedding canopy,” said the woman, “I was beautiful in his eyes. Suddenly I’m ugly?”
Rabbi Israel lifted his eyes to the heavens: “Master of the Universe! When you wed us at Mount Sinai we were beautiful in Your eyes. So what happened? Why have You turned Your face from us?”
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
Tags: G-d's love, love, marriage, relationships, Baal Shem Tov, Mt. Sinai
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March 24th, 2015
Editor’s note: The following is a free translation of a directive the Rebbe issued to his chassidim at a gathering on Purim of 1963[13].
G-d has granted our generation opportunities that have never been granted before. To our great misfortune, we are not utilizing them to the utmost.
One of these opportunities is the recent awakening among the youth for what they call “a return to roots.” They hunger and thirst for the word of G-d[14], it’s only that they are, as of yet, unaware as to where the word of G-d is to be found. The sole responsibility therefore lies with those who are already immersed in the waters—“there is no `water’ save for Torah”[15]–to explain to them that their thirst is for G-d’s perfect Torah, without compromise.
The first step, the rejection of the negative, they, our generation’s youth, have already achieved. They have shattered the idols and icons which prevailed among some of their parents. They have recognized that the man-made ideologies that were embraced forty and fifty years ago are false. We need only bring them to the second step, the acceptance of the positive—the study of Torah and the observance of mitzvot.
We are living in a time of opportunity and divine grace, and much can be achieved. We must not squander these times, G-d forbid.
We are living in a time that “The voice of my beloved knocks: Open for me.”[16] When G-d knocks on the door of every Jew’s heart and begs that it open to Him. G-d is not asking that we demolish walls or break down doors, only that we open up to him as the point of a needle,[17] “for My head is filled with dew, and My locks with the drops of the night”[18]—G-d can no longer suffer, so to speak, the tribulation of the galut night. He promises that when we open to Him as the point of needle He will do the rest, and in the blink of an eye,[19] bring the true redemption through our righteous Moshiach.
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber.
[13] Printed in Likkutei Sichot, vol. IV pp. 1369-1370
[14] Cf. Amos 8:11: “Behold, says G-d, days are coming in which I shall dispatch a hunger upon the land; not a hunger for bread, nor a thirst for water, but to hear the word of G-d.”
[15] Talmud, Bava Kama 17a on Isaiah 55:1.
[17] “G-d says to Israel: My children! Open to Me an opening of teshuvah as the point of a needle, and I will open for you doors for wagons and carriages pass through…”—Midrash Rabbah on Song of Songs, ibid.
[18] Song of Songs, ibid.
[19] See Mechilta on Exodus 12:41.
Tags: Rebbe's letters, youth, rebellion, 1960's, Rebbe, redemption
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